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O meadow lark, so wild and free...

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This poem is often wrongly thought to be by Robert W Service. It is published here to the memory of Hugh Antoine D'Arcy, its rightful father.
An Evening with the Bard of the Yukon, July 18 th 2003 at 20.30pm in the Town-Hall of Lancieux, Brittany.
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Grand-pa's Whim

Published by Susan on 07/30/2003 (2584 reads)
While for me gapes the greedy grave...

While for me gapes the greedy grave
         It don't make sense
That I should have a crazy crave
         To paint our fence.
Yet that is what I aim to do,
         Though dim my sight:
Jest paint them aged pickets blue,
         Or green or white.

Jest squat serenely in the sun
         Wi' brush an' paint,
An' gay them pickets one by one,
         --A chore! It ain't.
The job is joy. Although I'm slow
         I save expense:
So folks, let me before I go,
         Smart that ol' fence.

Them pickets with my hands I made,
         When young and spry;
I coloured them a gleeful shade
         To glad the eye.
So now as chirpy as a boy,
         'Ere I go hence,
Once more let me jest bright to joy
         Our picket fence.


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